


Breathe

by Slytherclaw2005



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Carl Grimes, Carl Grimes had a crush on Glenn as a kid, Gender Dysphoria, Grandpa Hershel, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Carl Grimes, Trans Carl Grimes, Trans Male Carl Grimes, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherclaw2005/pseuds/Slytherclaw2005
Summary: Season 3 is over, Woodbury has been defeated, and yet Carl feels more miserable than ever. Puberty for a thirteen year old transgender boy is never fun, and is even less so in the midst of an apocalypse. Grandpa Hershel (and Glenn) to the rescue.“Does your dad know?”“About the binding? No.”“Okay, okay. I’m going to need you to take the bandages off for now.”What?“N-No! I can’t! Why-”“Kid, the bandages are going to damage your ribs, maybe even your lungs. When was the last time you took it off?”
Relationships: Carl Grimes & Glenn Rhee, Carl Grimes & Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes and Hershel Greene
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Please (of possible) do not use unsafe binding techniques, they can be incredibly dangerous.
> 
> I am, while a member of the LGBTQ+ community, not transgender, so if you see something to be inaccurate about this representation of dysphoria or binding described, do not hesitate to tell me so I can try to fix it.
> 
> I do not own any of these characters (if I did I would not have touched my precious Carl or Glenn.)

Carl honestly didn’t know when this started becoming an issue. 

Okay, that’s a lie, he knows exactly when it started becoming an issue.

He had been staying in the prison, a few weeks after everything went down in Woodbury. A few weeks after a bunch of new people had moved into the prison. A few weeks after Judith was born. A few weeks after he had shot his own mom. And since then, with everything finally cooling down, with his dad taking a step down to become a goddamn farmer of all things and taking away his gun, with all these new people around to judge him, he became increasingly more aware that he had finally reached a point in his life that he had hoped had never come.

He had just taken a shower (late at night, in the communal bathroom, so there was no way anyone outside his family could ever know what he had been trying to keep hidden) and when he tried to put his shirt on, he was shocked to see a tightening around the shirt in his chest and stared in shock for a few minutes before turning around and throwing up.

This was not supposed to happen to him.

Carl knew how “female” bodies worked, having had one for thirteen years and having a mom who had set him down a few years prior (when he was still referred to as a she until he was eleven) to talk about developing bodies, which Carl had felt queasy about even then. 

But he had hoped.

He had hoped that maybe with the amount of malnourishment, he would never have to worry about breasts of all things, that maybe he would never grow- because even if he was stuck 4’6 forever, he would never have to think about anything more than a flat chest.

But apparently the world- which he should have already known- hated him.

Hated him so much that he had been ignorant to his growing chest (probably for weeks, oh shit did everyone know?) that had only now revealed itself to him. Revealed to him when he no longer had a mom who could help him out (and only a dad that he was scared of mentioning it to because he feared that maybe now he would seem like less of a man in his eyes, that now Rick would use it as an excuse to keep him farming rather than fighting like he wanted to.)

So yeah, he threw up, and then ran to his room and grabbed the baggiest clothes he could- being a flannel that was likely picked up for Glenn but the man never intended to wear or had forgotten- and threw them on, before trying to fall asleep with a hammering heart.

News flash: he didn’t.

Days passed, and Carl began to become increasingly more paranoid about the fact that someone would finally notice something. That he would bend down at the wrong moment and the curve in his chest would be revealed. That someone would put his height (or lack of), longish hair (which was something he had always liked- that was short enough that it didn’t go to his shoulders, but long enough he could still feel it brushing his neck sometimes- which was too short for a girl (he hoped) but maybe too long for a boy (he feared)), glances at Glenn (which he didn’t understand half the time, because if he was a boy was he even allowed to find another boy attractive?), and his body together to discover that maybe he wasn’t all he said he was (and yeah, his family had been pretty supportive, his mom being upset for a bit before coming around to having a son and his dad being pretty proud of him telling them, but this was still Georgia.)

And he kept trying to ignore the itchiness he felt under his skin any time he had a second to think. Anytime anyone looked at him. Anytime he was alone.

He had been wandering around the prison before he ended up in the med bay of all things. Maybe he was looking for Judith? Hell, he doesn’t know- all he knows is that his feet carried him to the room which seemed to have the solution to all his problems. His mother had talked to him about binding before everything went to hell, telling him that when puberty hit, there were tools that could restrain his chest, making it flat- and she had at one point mentioned something called a “binder” (which she must have read about online) or bandages (which she had certainly read about online because she had mentioned something about them being dangerous or painful.)

But Carl was already in danger (both from walkers and the Governor and his sanity) and there were no “binders'' (what the hell even were those?) in sight. But there was a nice role of bandages on the counter, likely from Hershel bandaging up his stump earlier that day.

So, he grabbed them and left, heading straight for the nearest bathroom and locked himself in.

It took him a few tries to get it right, struggling at first to wrap them around properly and then trying to make sure it was tight enough, there was a bit of pain, but Carl ignored it in favor of trying to get rid of those hideous things on his chest. After that, he walked around the room, trying to get used to the tightness and making sure it wasn’t visible in any way, shape, or form, before leaving. Keeping the bandages on the entire time.

He went like that for a few weeks, keeping the bandages on while he was up and about, caring for the plants his dad was starting to grow with the help of Hershel, or just wandering around the prison, and only took them off sometimes when he was sleeping in his cell (which he wasn’t sharing with his dad anymore thank god) to give himself room to breathe. 

And yeah, maybe his chest and ribs were hurting a bit more each day, but honestly who gave a crap?

Then it all came to a head.

He had been trying to finish hoeing a certain area that Hershel and his dad wanted to expand the garden to, when he suddenly could. not. breathe.  
He could feel his chest straining to get air in, but he wasn’t getting enough, and Carl started to panic.

“Breathe son. Breathe.”

Hershel?

He must have fallen to the ground in his panic, but as he started to calm down, air finally starting to get into his chest, he saw Hershel sitting next to him, hand over him in support as he tried to calm the boy down.

“Her-”

“Hey now, just breathe.” Hershel said, in a comforting (Carl would say grandfather-esque) manner.

They laid like that for a few minutes, letting Carl catch his breath, before Hershel talked again.

“Now, has that ever happened to you before?”

“What? No, no I-”

“We might want to get you checked out, it could have been an asthma attack or something the like. I’ll get your dad.”

Dad? No-

“No!”

Hershel looked over at him, confused.

“We need to tell your father, it’s not normal for a boy your age to suddenly struggle breathe.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Have you had trouble lately?”

“No.”

Hershel just looked at him.

Shit. Mom always did say Carl had the worst poker face to ever poker.

“Kid, this is serious. I need to check you out.”

Shit.

Shit. 

Shit.

Hershel was not going to let this go, because as nice as the guy was, he cared immensely about everyone in the group’s health, being the vet turned pseudo-doctor.

“Fine. But no dad.”

“Carl-”

“Please.”

Hershel looked at him for a moment before slowly nodding, likely knowing that if he tried to fight Carl the boy would never get checked out.

“You good to walk?”

No.

“Mhmm.”

Fuck his poker face.

“Glenn!”

Fuck it.

Glenn (who had been in the watchtower alone (Maggie having gone on a run) nearby when Carl went down) and Hershel helped Carl into the med bay, where he laid on the bed as Hershel started to run some tests.

“Breathe out again.” Hershel said, with his stethoscope up against Carl, trying to listen to the boy’s breathing.

“Kid, something sounds wrong, I’m going to need you to take off your shirt for me to check.”

No.

“No I-”

“Kid, this could be something serious. We don’t have any inhalers for asthma if this is what it is, or you could have some infection.”

He couldn’t though, not with Hershel and Glenn (who hadn’t left due to Hershel’s command that someone stay in the room in case Carl has another attack or Hershel finds something he doesn’t like.)

“Hershel, please-”

He could hear himself starting to cry, his throat growing sore as he tries to keep his pleas in. They couldn’t know. They couldn’t see it. Because if they saw it then-

“Hey, hey kid. I’m sorry. Nobody wants to hurt you okay son? We’re just trying to help.” Hershel whispered, trying to calm the boy down.

“I can leave,” said Glenn in the background.

Carl just nodded, and before long he heard footsteps and the door open and shut.

“Kid-”

“Okay” He whispered, and started to unbutton his flannel, before shrugging it (quite painfully) off.

He heard Hershel’s deep intake of breath.

“Don’t tell anyone please.” He pleaded. Nobody else could know. Not Daryl or Maggie or Beth or Carol. His dad could not know about this.

“How long have you been binding like this?” Hershel asked.

Wha-

“A few weeks.” He whispered.

“Does your dad know?”

“About the binding? No.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to need you to take the bandages off for now.”

What?

“N-No! I can’t! Why-”

“Kid, the bandages are going to damage your ribs, maybe even your lungs. When was the last time you took it off?”

“I take it off sometimes at night. I’m not-”

“That’s not healthy. You need to stop.”

What?! No-

“I can’t! I can’t!” He started to cry out.

“There are safe ways you can do this, I know Glenn and Maggie were talking about a bra store nearby-”

“I’M NOT WEARING A BRA!”

“That might sell binders in the back.”

Wha-

Oh.

“You’ll help me?”

“Of course son.”

“You don’t care?”

“I care about your health. Not about what body you were born with, kid, the world is bad enough without people hurting and judging others for things they can’t control.”

Shit-he might cry again.

“We might need to tell Glenn though, he knows the shops and could help get you what you need.”

Hershel isn’t mad. Hershel doesn’t hate him. Hershel isn’t going to tell everyone in the group. Hershel still sees him as a boy. 

“Okay.” Carl whispered, and Hershel got up to talk to Glenn (who had been pacing outside.)

“I need you to go on a run.” Carl heard Hershel say outside.

Hershel did end up having Carl take the bandages off, it wasn’t safe for him to keep them on anymore, and Hershel that (much to Carl’s embarrassment) have him measure himself, in order to give Glenn (who had been incredibly supportful of the entire thing- honestly did Carl need to doubt Glenn? The man was a literal angel) the sizes for the binder (and sports bra- which Hershel said he would need because he can’t wear a binder all the time either (how the hell was Hershel so knowledgeable about this shit? He will never know)) since Carl wouldn’t be able to go on the run with him, both because his dad would never allow it and because (he will admit) he is in no condition to.

Hours after Glenn left, he did return with everything Carl needed, putting in a bag and quietly giving it to Carl and giving him a small smile, before giving the food he had gathered while on the run to the group.

Carl may love Glenn.

Hershel had told Carl that he should tell his dad what was going on. That his dad wouldn’t care. And it wasn’t until later that night, when Rick had come to say goodnight to Carl that he told him everything in whispers.

The conversation may have ended with a hug and multiple promises of support and love from Rick.

And yeah- maybe Carl wasn’t ready now, but maybe soon he would be comfortable enough to tell the others. Or maybe not, all he knew was that he was happy. And for now that was enough.


End file.
